No one knew the time.
The sky above the city had turned dark red, filled with ash and strange dimensions distortions. It looked as if the sky itself had cracked.
Skyscrapers were no longer proud towers. Many had collapsed, their steel frames bent and broken like giant gravestones. Glass kept falling from shattered windows, hitting the empty streets below.
Fires burned across the city.
Without wind, the flames moved slowly, spreading through the ruins. Emergency sirens screamed in the distance, but one by one they died as the power failed.
Soon, only silence remained.
This city had already lost.
In the heart of the ruins, chaos reigned.
Humans—Dao Eternals—clashed head-on with monsters pouring out from rifts in the air itself. The space above the streets cracked open like shattered mirrors, vomiting grotesque figures from another dimension. Scales, claws, warped limbs, eyes glowing with alien intelligence.
Divine skills tore through the battlefield.
Blades of light cleaved monsters in half. Gravity crushed entire packs into pulp. Flames burned so hot they twisted concrete and steel. But for every monster that was killed, another crawled out from the rifts.
Blood soaked the streets.
Human blood. Monster blood. No one could tell the difference anymore.
And then—
everything else became background noise.
At the center of the battlefield, atop a mountain of monster corpses, stood a man.
He was tall. Barefoot. His upper body naked, skin drenched with dark, steaming blood. Long red hair flowed wildly behind him, untouched by fire or ash. His eyes—deep, radiant ruby red—burned brighter than the flames around him.
Every step he took crushed bones.
Every movement was slaughter.
He didn't use flashy techniques.
He didn't chant Dao laws.
He simply slaughter.
A monster lunged at him from behind—its mouth split open, rows of serrated teeth snapping shut.
The man turned.
A single strike.
The monster exploded into mist, its core shattered before it could even scream.
"Hahahaha—!"
His laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained, echoing through the ruined city like a curse.
"You damn monsters," he roared, blood dripping from his fingers. "You dare infiltrate my place?"
Another wave surged toward him.
He welcomed them.
"Stay," he said softly—deceptively calm.
"And don't even think about going back to your dimension."
He stepped forward.
The slaughter began in earnest.
His fists blurring into afterimages as they punched through armored hides, shattering cores with explosive force. One beast's head caved in with a crunch, brains splattering across his chest.
The man tore through monsters like a walking catastrophe, his laughter growing louder, sharper. His killing was a silent art of terrifying efficiency—space itself seemed to distorted with his blows, and whatever they touched was obliterated.
Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, the bloods soaking him further, fueling his mad laughter that grew sharper, louder, a primal howl that drowned out the dying shrieks around him.
His laughter echoed again—low, feral, satisfied.
Then—
Darkness crept in from the edges of reality.
The flames dimmed.
The screams faded.
The sky collapsed inward.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
—
"Huh?"
A sharp sound stabbed into his skull.
[BEEP. BEEP. BEEP]
Ren's eyes snapped open.
He bolted upright, gasping for air, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. Cold sweat soaked his shirt. His hands trembled as if they were still drenched in blood.
The ceiling above him was low. Cracked. Yellowed with age.
Not a ruined city.
Not a battlefield.
An alarm clock.
"…Just a dream?" he muttered hoarsely.
He glanced at his hands. Clean. Not a single blood can be seen.
"It's the same dream again," he cursed under his breath. "Shit."
The year was 2035. In the City of Whisperfall.
Ren, fifteen years old, lay on a thin mattress inside a room barely larger than a storage unit. One bed. One wobbling table. A battered second-hand TV shoved into the corner. The air smelled faintly of dust and instant noodles.
An orphan's room.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling.
"Mmmm" He exhaled slowly. "Why does this dream keep coming back?"
This wasn't the first time.
It wasn't even the tenth.
Every time, the same city.
The same slaughter.
The same laughter.
And the same feeling afterward.
Hunger.
A deep, gnawing emptiness in his stomach.
Ren pressed a hand against it. It growled in response, sharp and impatient, as if he hadn't eaten in days.
"…Is it because I want to become an Eternal too much that I keep dreaming about slaughteting monsters?" he muttered.
Inside the room, he who should have awakened his Dao years ago but failed sat quietly, ignored by the world.
Outside, the city was already awake.
Drones patrolled the sky in precise lanes, their blue-white sensors sweeping across apartment blocks and broken streets alike. Some carried surveillance arrays. Others bore the emblem of the Dao Enforcement Bureau, their presence a silent reminder that monsters were not myths—and that order was absolute.
Massive holo-screens lit up the sides of buildings, cycling through the morning news.
BREAKING: Minor-dimensional breach sealed in District 9.
CASUALTIES: Under verification.
ETERNALS DEPLOYED.
The image shifted—grainy footage of armored Eternals standing amid smoking rubble, their Dao manifestations still flickering as civilians were ushered away. The comments beneath the broadcast scrolled faster than the eye could follow.
"They arrived too late again.
At least they came.
Hey, do you know? My cousin awakened his Dao last night—Dao of Fire!"
Another screen cut in.
PUBLIC NOTICE: Dao Awakening Assessment—Ages 10 to 12 (Mandatory)
LATE AWAKENERS: Report immediately to the nearest Bureau
Ren's gaze lingered for a moment before sliding away.
He already knew how that story ended.
A third broadcast appeared, brighter, louder, deliberately hopeful.
ETERNALS RECRUITMENT EXAMS — New Year 2035
Strength. Order. Survival.
"Become humanity's shield."
A group of teenagers filled the screen—smiling, confident, Dao energy flaring around them for the cameras. Families cheered in the background. Sponsors' logos lined the frame.
Heroes, in the making.
Down on the street below, reality was less glamorous.
Street vendors yelled over one another, selling synthetic meals and Dao-stimulant drinks to exhausted workers. Refugees from outer districts huddled near barricades, eyes darting upward whenever the air distorted even slightly. A siren wailed somewhere far off—too distant to care, too common to fear properly anymore.
Life went on.
It always did.
Ren leaned against the window frame, watching it all in silence.
Then,
An Emergency Report came in,
One of the holo-screens flickered, its brightness dimming as the broadcast shifted tone.
COMMUNITY ALERT: Multiple missing child reports filed across Inner and Mid-Ring districts.
STATUS: Ongoing investigation.
AUTHORITIES: "No evidence of monster involvement at this time."
The footage showed blurred images—school gates, apartment corridors, transit platforms. Image of young kids circled in red. 10 years old. Eleven. Twelve.
Ren frowned, brow furrowing. "Missing children?"
He exhaled slowly. "Looks like something out there is preying on the young ones. I'll need to tread more carefully outside these streets."
The screen cut to an official spokesperson from the Dao Enforcement Bureau, his expression composed, practiced.
"Parents are advised not to panic. These incidents are believed to be isolated cases of unauthorized relocation or domestic disputes."
The comments exploded instantly.
"They said the same thing last year.
My neighbor's kid vanished—no monsters attack, no signs.
Funny how it's always the awakening age."
Then,
ADDITIONAL NOTICE: Late awakeners and anomalous youths are encouraged to register for Dao evaluation.
Ren's eyes narrowed.
He read the line again.
"Late awakeners and anomalous youths are encouraged to register for Dao evaluation."
Encouraged.
He let out a short, humorless breath. Everyone knew what that word really meant.
Required—eventually.
If you didn't register, the Bureau flagged you.
If you were flagged, someone came knocking.
If someone came knocking… troubles follow.
He'd avoided it for years. Kept his head down. Stayed invisible. No Dao meant no interest—at least, that was how it used to work.
But now? He sigh,
His stomach twisted sharply, hunger flaring as if in protest. Ren pressed a hand against it, jaw tightening,"hah! This hunger again? When will I actually be "full"."
He glanced at the date flashing in the corner of the screen.
The registration deadline was today.
Ren turned away from the window and reached for his jacket.
"…Guess I don't have a choice."
---